Lost General
by LordEphidel
Summary: Until an unfortunate battle beside the Obsidian, Valter was nothing more than a very talented wyvern knight. Until that fateful day, he had almost been a respectable person. Until then, he had been thoroughly sane. For Bhel-Elryss.


"I knew the Emperor's been promoting some less than noble soldiers these days," growled Glen, jamming more supplies into his wyvern saddle, "but how did those three become generals of Grado?" The Sunstone, Obsidian, and Fluorspar were preparing to leave on their new assignments from Vigarde, but this was largely just an excuse to discuss the recent additions to their number.

"I'm sure he had his reasons," said Selena. "Maybe we really will need their strength, like he said."

Glen stopped packing and glared at her. "You don't know anything about those men, do you?"

"I've heard some stories," she admitted. "The bishop, Bloody Beryl, used to be a Rausten noble before dabbling in forbidden magic and becoming an exile for it. The men say he's possessed by an evil spirit and won't rest until the Divine Emperor is dead."

"True enough," agreed Duessel, "though I wouldn't put any faith in the word of scared soldiers. They're good men, but fear has a way of making them believe the strangest things. Of course some of the rumors are a bit more true than you'd like them to be–that Tiger's Eye is more ambitious than I thought possible. He seems to think of this promotion and every other one as a stepping stone to becoming ruler of Grado."

"And Moonstone," hissed Glen. "He wasn't called that before. It suits his newfound madness."

"What are you talking about?" asked Selena.

"The Emperor covered it up," replied Glen with a dark look. "The only people who really know what happened are me, Duessel, Vigarde, and that blackheart himself. It wasn't even two years ago when he just named you a general like nothing had happened."

"Before you became Fluorspar," explained Duessel, "Valter was the third general of Grado, as you should know. He was supposed to have been executed for causing unnecessary bloodshed, but it looks like that didn't happen. He's a dangerous man to friend and foe alike, and as long as you have to work with him, I think you should at least know how he became this way."

– – –

Valter the Onyx strode into a tent and sat down before a large table, briefly glancing at the map that Glen and Duessel were poring over before leaning back in his chair.

"What are you doing, planning still?" he asked. "I could have sworn that you were supposed to have started an hour ago." He said it with a charming smile that was every bit as important as his lance in getting him the rank of general.

"Do you think you have a plan then?" asked Glen.

"Of course," said Valter. "I fly out and all the Jehannan dogs die."

"And what will you do when they deploy archers and mages? It's a desert, even you must know that there will be dozens at least."

"You forget about this," he said, lazily flipping a light blue amulet into the air. He caught it deftly, placing it back in his pocket with one hand while the other ran through his short blue hair. "Archer's won't be able to do much to me when I have this, and you know that the mercenary guilds rarely have many mages worth worrying over. If any of them are stupid enough to try to fight me, they'll taste my lance before they can utter a single word."

"Don't be an idiot," said Glen. "You can't seriously think that that would work."

"I don't recommend it," he admitted, "even though it probably would work. My life is honestly worth a bit more than that of a common soldier's, though, so I'd probably bring along a few of them just in case. Ideally cavalry, but considering the sandy terrain, I'd say pegasi or shamans would be better. Of course we have neither, so cavalry will have to do, waiting just beyond the edge of the dunes to give cover if we have to retreat."

"That is in fact precisely what we have planned to do," said Duessel. "We were just going over the finer details of it when you arrived."

"Well carry on then," said Valter with an absentminded wave of his hand. "I'd hate to be the reason why you took so long to plan this out."

Glen looked like he was going to say something biting, much to Valter's amusement, but a word from the Obsidian silenced him. They proceeded to discuss which soldiers would be deployed and which would be held in reserve, and then turned to matters of equipment. Occasionally they stopped to convey orders to a subordinate, but beyond that they went largely uninterrupted for at least an hour. Of course Valter spent most of the time in a slight doze–he was confident in his ability, and only bothered with this meeting at all in order to placate the other generals.

He roused himself properly when a young wyvern rider entered the room. "They'll be here soon," he said.

"What are their numbers, Cormag?" asked Glen.

"About fifty, I think. Mostly axemen and swordsmen with a few archers scattered around. A group of mages is in the rear, and a druid is with them. It looks like he's the one in charge."

"Good work," said Duessel. "Let's rally the troops."

– – –

Valter was flying high over the battlefield to be with a dozen of the best wyvern riders of Grado not far behind him. It was almost noon now, the glare of the bright desert sun shielding them from the eyes of the Jehannan mercenaries. He waited a bit for them to get closer to the mound of firmer sand where the cavalry was garrisoned, watching them inch along through the sand towards their imminent death.

Now. Any closer and they might notice the camp and turn around.

"You know what to do," said Valter, readying his lance as he dove downwards. His men readied their own weapons, but did not follow immediately.

Valter landed alone directly in the center of the enemy formation, impaling an unsuspecting mercenary as he did. His wyvern jerked upwards to avoid a hand axe, then descended again as Valter ran the axeman through.

"What fool among you would challenge the Onyx?" he yelled, gathering the attention of all those nearby. "Stand up now, all of you, and see if you stand a chance!"

"I don't think it'll be so easy," came the gruff voice of a gnarled old warrior. The wyvern knight watched with amusement as his foe whipped out a massive bow and unleashed a flurry of arrows. He managed to avoid the first shot, and though the rest seemed as though they would meet their mark, a sudden gust of wind blew them away from the wyvern's wings, bouncing off the tough scales that covered the rest of its body.

Valter smiled, knowing that his fili shield would allow him to survive attacks from any number of lesser archers, and still fare quite well against stronger ones such as this. "Try again," he said, pulling a javelin from his pack, and twirling it over his head before sending it cleanly through the warrior's skull. He took out his steel lance again and resumed his ostentatious slaughter.

Then the second wave of the assault began as Valter's men dropped down on the fringes of the formation, cutting down the archers that were still too dumbstruck with Valter's display of strength before moving on to the other soldiers.

The battle seemed to be in their favor–they had already reduced the enemy forces by a third–but suddenly a bolt of lightning arced down from the cloudless sky and struck one of the wyverns, sending it plummeting to the ground. Another bolt soon followed, scorching another rider, and the Onyx turned his attention to the source of the attacks.

As expected, it was the group of spellcasters. A pair of sages were casting bolting spells at an alarming rate, but whenever one of the wyvern riders tried to stop them, the druid in command of the forces would stave them off with powerful dark magic. Glen might have been able to handle it, but he was busy protecting the flanks of the other wyverns, and so Valter took it on himself to deal with this threat.

Unfortunately that was far easier said than done. The druid was powerful indeed, and Valter's mount outright refused to draw closer whenever he cast a spell. The general looked back to see if the rest of the battle was faring any better, and was disappointed to see that this was not the case. Only half their forces were left, and though he and Glen could probably finish the battle alone if their need was dire, the other knights would only be a liability. He futilely tossed his last javelin as his foe–falling short by several yards–before ordering a retreat.

Though the others were now retreating at full speed, Valter slowed a bit to deal with whatever soldiers remained. He could not remain for long with the mages all advancing in a tight formation towards him, but he managed to avoid whatever bolts of lightning were aimed at him, which had the added benefit of keeping the attacks away from less agile targets. He was almost at the mound where the cavalry was hidden now, the mages just behind him. There was no fear, no doubt that the maneuver would work, and indeed, just as the first mage reached the peak of the mound, the cavalry charged.

Valter continued in his retreat until he found Duessel and explained the situation to him. He would not have any more men die under his command–it was bad for his reputation. Besides, that also meant that he could fight alongside the Obsidian, and even though Valter still could not fathom his proud loyalty to Grado, he still maintained a healthy respect for the old general's martial prowess.

The two knights charged into the enemy ranks, every swing of the axe or thrust of the spear slaying yet another foe. They charged into the heart of the enemy formation, fighting as close to back to back as possible with their large mounts. Even when the enemy foot soldiers caught up and rejoined the fight, it hardly made a difference.

But then a poorly aimed blow struck one of the enemy mercenaries not in the chest as he had intended, but rather on the shoulder, which was protected by thick armor. Valter's lance, strained as it was from its liberal use earlier in the battle, shattered from the impact.

Still, it was no more than a minor irritation. Ordinarily he might have looted a lesser lance from one of the nearby corpses, but today he fought beside the Obsidian, who was well known to always carry a wide variety of powerful weapons on his person.

"Hold them off now," he said to his mount as he jumped out of the saddle. The wyvern responded with a roar and proceeded to eat nearest enemy.

"Duessel," said Valter. "Do you have a spare lance?"

"The great Onyx, caught unprepared for battle?" said Duessel, not even bothering to turn to look at him. "Take the one from the left hind leg."

Valter reached for the metal shaft protruding from the warhorse, but the he saw a faint glimmering on the opposite side. It was a very tempting glimmer–one that spoke of power greater than he could possibly imagine. Without hesitation, he slid the silver lance back into place and reached for the glimmering lance.

It was black, covered with angry red runes that gleamed brighter as he took hold of it. The mere touch of the enchanted metal was enough to set Valter overflowing with power, and he knew he had made the right choice. He mounted his wyvern again, and returned to battle.

It took him only a moment to understand the true power of the lance. It seemed to brighten with glee as it was soaked in blood, and Valter too felt a glorious ecstasy slowly consuming him. He killed man after man, each death sending him deeper into his mad euphoria, furthering his hunger. He moved with renewed vigor, killing them faster and faster to satisfy his lust, darting from foe to foe and leaving nothing but corpses in his wake.

It was not long then until all the enemy forces were dead, and suddenly he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Valter!" came a deep, commanding voice.

The Onyx slowly turned to look at Duessel, the old knight's eyes blazing. "And how might I be of assistance?" he asked, mildly surprised at how reedy his voice had become.

"Where did you get that lance?"

"Why from you, of course. Is this not the weapon you indicated to me?"

"No! Return it, now!"

Valter had never seen him so angry before. He was tempted to run him through now, to strike him down so that the overwhelming rapture might return, but something stopped him. Yes, if he killed the general now, there was no way he could keep his own position, and surely no other position on the continent had more opportunities to spill blood than a general of Grado. He tossed the spear back to Duessel, quickly searching for another weapon for the slight chance that another chance to kill would present itself.

When Glen appeared a moment later, Valter was pleased to here that such an opportunity was not far off.

"We've searched the bodies," he said, "and the druid is not among them. One of our men says he might have seen him fleeing west towards one of the villages."

"I think I might have to handle this," said Valter before anyone else could speak. And with that he urged his mount into the air and flew after his target.

He found the town quickly enough, but of course had no idea where to go from there. Surely at least one of the villagers would know, and he dismounted to continue his search.

"You there," he said to a young woman walking by. "I don't suppose you've seen a druid pass by here, have you? Strange man in a black cloak?"

She cowered from him, oddly enough. Ordinarily a girl of her age might be flattered to be spoken to by him, but not today. Still, it was a trivial matter.

"Sorry," she stuttered, "I haven't seen anyone like that."

Valter looked closely at her, then raised his lance. "I think you might be lying."

The girl's eyes widened. "Sorry, I really don't know. Please, I need to get home now."

Valter paused and smiled, then ran her through with his steel lance, just to see if it would be as pleasurable as it was with the enchanted one. He was not disappointed.

The general went from one house to the next, questioning everyone he found and killing them if they could not answer his question. So far none had survived. It wasn't until he had destroyed half the village when he found a wealthy old man who claimed to be giving shelter to the druid, but he killed him too, because he could.

But he did search the house, and was quickly found his prey hiding in one of the washrooms, though he gave more resistance than he first though he would. Valter saw a black pinwheel appeared around him and a circle of flames slammed into his body, and though he was slightly out of breath, he continued forward and stabbed at the druid. The spellcaster twitched to the side at the last minute, though, causing what would have been a fatal blow to instead pierce through his right arm. Still, he dropped his fenrir tome and screamed as Valter readied his lance for the final blow.

But the strike never met its mark–a firm hand had grabbed him by the wrist, and another pair was holding him back. It was Duessel and Glen.

"You two," gasped the druid. "You'll listen to reason, won't you?"

"What do you mean?" asked Duessel cautiously.

"The prince sent you, didn't he? I used to be one his best researchers, but I left once he began to study the darkstone. He's wanted nothing more than to have me back ever since then, I know it."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"It's an evil thing, the darkstone," continued the druid, "and any human that would dare tamper with it is doomed. I left to avoid that fate, but I know the prince hasn't stopped. Why else would he send the three generals after me? I was coming back to force him to stop if I had to, but as you see, it didn't quite work out as planned. You have to stop him!"

"He's mad," said Glen. "Don't bother listening to that nonsense now, take him back to the capital for questioning and let's go. I can't hold this demon back forever."

"Demon," whispered the druid suddenly. "What happened to him? He looks like general Valter, but twisted, changed. Could this be the work of the Demon King? This is exactly why we have to stop Lyon now!"

"The Demon King has nothing to do with his current condition," said Duessel. "The only person to blame for what he is now is me."

"Excuse me," interrupted Valter, still struggling against Glen. "What exactly are you talking about?"

The Obsidian looked coldly at him, then reached for a mirror lying nearby and held it up to the mad general. He was presented not with the visage of a handsome young man, but of ragged hair, pale skin, and more so than anything else, dark, sunken eyes that gleamed with the same power of the spear he had been wielding not twenty minutes ago.

He stopped struggling and let out slow, maniacal laughter. He liked his new appearance; it suited him well.

More important than that, though, was the change in pressure on his arm. Glen tensed as the laughter began, but as it continued, he began to let his guard down. Valter seized the opportunity, and twisted out of his grasp. Though unarmed, he lunged at the druid before him and snapped his neck, sending one final wave of pure glee flowing through him.

"That's all, for the moment," he said to the other two generals. "I won't bother fighting the two of you unarmed like this, so you can take me back to the capital now. Thank you, Duessel, for the wonderful lance you gave to me earlier, it was really the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'm quite grateful for it. You, though, Glen, I don't appreciate you stopping me from killing this man for so long. I can be a patient man with some things, but that was not one of them. Your death, though. I can be patient for that."

– – –

"That's awful," said Selena. "How could he possibly remain in the military at all, after that, even more so as a general?"

"That's why I can't help but wonder what the emperor is thinking with all this," said Duessel. "I still wonder if that druid wasn't right."

"It's not our place to wonder," said Selena. "But it's enough a reason to remain cautious for these next few battles. Even as an ally, I am doubtful that I would want these men on the same battlefield as me."

That was something that they could all agree to before finishing their packing and heading off on their separate ways. It was the last time they spoke to each other as allies.

–––Author's Notes–––

First and foremost, Merry Christmas to Bhel-Elryss. I question if this was what you had in mind for a story, but this is what spewed forth from my forehead, and hopefully it is to your liking. Of course I politely question the sanity of anyone who actually does enjoy this hideous brick of wholly unedited text that I vomited out in three days. Writing one-shots is neither a great skill nor a particular pleasure of mine, and I hope any shortcomings it has can be forgiven [and pointed out so I do not make them again].

And before my infectiously bright and cheery holiday spirit overflows, I may as well move on to discussing the background of this piece like I am supposed to in this section. It is based largely on the A support between Duessel and Cormag [this story was originally supposed to be centered around the former character], discussing how Valter became what he was.

There may be some timeline errors, as I am not as familiar with Magvel as I ought to be, and was lacking the time to properly research everything. I may come back and make minor changes in this regard [in addition to some much needed stylistic revision, and dealing with whatever typos I made, and everything else that comes up], at a later date. On a somewhat related note, I do hope that Glen and Selena were in character, as I am rather unfamiliar with how they ought to act beyond their brief interactions with Valter.

And because I demand everything to have some sort of meaning behind it, Valter's old stone name was chosen for its darker undertones; onyx is in fact the Latin word for "claw".

And again, Merry Christmas. It is good to be writing again.


End file.
